The gods could choose how they appeared. No one knew their true forms, only the way they chose to show themselves. Niryati was no different.
She had dark skin, like the shade of ashes from a pyre. She donned a white, silk saree, oxidized silver jewelry, and an old human skull hung by her hip. A sword was sheathed at her waist, adorned with gold. Her long, dark hair was loose, wild, and free. And from the locks of black hair stuck out two dark bull-horns, shining as if they were made from gemstones.
She towered over both the reaper and ghost as they walked side by side. A huge door appeared at the far end of the antechamber.
"You wanted to tell me something," Niryati hummed as they made their way towards the gate. She spoke with the ease of a close friend; perhaps she didn't understand how intimidating she was. Aarin could barely find his voice before forcing words out.
"I did," he responded. "The rise in ghostly activity could be related to things I've heard at the festival. And…" Aarin threw a fleeting glance at the ghost lord, "Nirvan, here, could provide much-needed context."
"Is it related to Yethra, perchance?" Niryati asked gently. Aarin nodded in response. He was about to continue, but she raised her hand.
"Save it for the assembly. I'm sure Aakash would like to hear all about it." Niryati paused in front of the door and placed her palm against the surface. She muttered some ancient prayer that Aarin didn't recognize, and the gates flew open. Aarin was immediately hit with blinding light. He hissed softly and covered his eyes, stumbling back.
Once his eyes adjusted, he realized exactly where they were.
The ground was far below them; Aarin could even see a few birds fly past beneath. They were surrounded by clouds and beautiful, golden temples. In the distance stood many palaces in different colours. All around them were gods, all making their way to the same palace in the very heart of the sky.
The abode of gods.
"Oh don't worry, you won't fall," Niryati assured Nirvan as she stepped onto thin air. A ripple ran across the air as if it were water, but her foot didn't fall through. The ghost followed, quite in awe. Aarin had been here before, having attended exactly two council meetings before this. Both times hadn't been the smoothest for Niryati or the Order of Spiritual Heralds.
They walked past the beautiful architecture and gods, earning some pointed stares and whispered comments.
Just as judgemental eyes from other reapers followed Aarin, Niryati had her own spectators. It was comforting in some odd way. As a young reaper all those centuries ago, still not used to the politics or customs of the world he'd been thrust into, Aarin had taken solace in the fact that he wasn't alone.
If the very goddess of the afterlife had to deal with petty gossip, surely he could as well.
"Niryati, I thought you wouldn't show up this time around!" Came a loud voice from the side. Both Aarin and Nirvan turned to look but Niryati didn't bother.
"Riyan," the goddess said, her voice lower than usual. "What do you mean? Of course I must attend the assembly."
Riyan, the Doorkeeper, God of Choices, grinned wolfishly, "After your failure at stopping all this ghostly activity, I would've thought you'd have some shame."
"I didn't choose temporary fixes to keep the rest of you happy, is that such a crime?" Niryati said calmly. Aarin clenched his hand in a tight fist, letting the frustration channel through. Don't speak out of turn, you're standing among gods. He felt a cold hand gently wrapping around his trembling fist, followed by a just as cold body stepping closer. Aarin breathed in Nirvan's scent, the jasmines, the cloves, and let them ground him.
"Not only did you not do your job, but you also brought a stranger with you!" Riyan exclaimed, pointing at Nirvan, and Aarin's heart jumped to his throat.
"Who are you?" the god of choices asked. "Pray tell, what importance could you possibly h-"
Niryati went to speak, but, much to Aarin's horror, Nirvan stepped forward.
"Nirvan, the Prince of Saila, The Jasmine Ghost Lord, pleasure to meet you."
Everyone froze dead in their tracks, and Aarin felt his blood run cold. Oh no.
He grabbed Nirvan's forearm sternly and pulled the ghost behind himself protectively, eyes nervously flitting around.
"He has an immortality card," Aarin called loud enough that everyone nearby could hear. "He may be a ghost lord, but he has not broken any laws."
Niryati looked at him over her shoulder, and he realized that maybe he shouldn't have spoken out of turn either. He felt Nirvan move behind him, probably to grab the hilt of his sword in case things got ugly. Though what one ghost and one reaper could do to these many gods in their own home, he did not know.
Just when Aarin thought horns would blare and they would be thrown out for disrespect, Niryati smiled.
"The reaper is right," she hummed rather cheerily. "So if you could let us pass, that'd be lovely."
Riyan sputtered, clearly annoyed that his little stunt had done nothing major. Sure, everyone was even more alert now, their gaze locked on Nirvan instead of Niryati or anything else, but at least no one had made a move to attack.
"You should really train that dog of yours better!" Riyan called to Niryati as they walked past the crowd. Aarin immediately held Nirvan's hand and pulled him closer.
"Not worth it," he whispered to Nirvan, who took in a deep breath and exhaled as if he were meditating.
"I know," Nirvan responded coolly. "Just keeping some names in mind."
Aarin didn't bother asking what that meant.
Once they finally reached the main palace, the golden gates swung open, and Niryati turned to Aarin.
"Their words will be cruel," she murmured gently. "They're agitated, and angry, but we must stay calm. No matter what words they throw at us, you must stay focused. Our aim is not to placate them, us gods are infamously hard to please, right?" Niryati smiled.
Aarin nodded. "Of course."
The palace was beautiful, a true marvel of architecture and craftsmanship, but they would have time to explore later. For now, Niryati walked straight towards the throne room. About thirty seats were lined on either side of the walkway, which led all the way up to a golden throne. Pearls and opals were embedded in the seat, looking like little moons and clouds trapped in gemstones.
On the throne, sat a tall, beautiful man. His hair was white and whispy, as if made of clouds themselves. His eyes were gently, just slightly downturned. Gold jewerly adorned his bare torso, and beneath, he wore a blue dhoti. Behind him were two giant white wings, folded neatly.
Aakash, the God of Skies, the King of Gods.
"Come in," the god spoke and his voice echoed in the entire room. "Take a seat, Niryati, we have much to discuss."